Chapter 5 - Bloodline of Poison
The downstairs parlor was suffocatingly opulent.
Gilded mirrors reflected the flickering glow of a massive marble fireplace.
Sitting on an emerald velvet sofa was Helena Romano.
She was a woman in her late fifties, with silver hair swept back in an immaculate chignon.
Her face was smooth, carved by expensive surgeons into a mask of polite indifference.
Around her neck hung a three-strand pearl choker that looked heavy enough to bruise.
Nico stood by the mantle, a glass of dark scotch in his hand, looking completely detached.
When Marcus escorted Ava into the room, Helena set her porcelain teacup down with a delicate clink.
"So this is the little savior," Helena said, her voice smooth and dripping with artificial warmth.
Ava stood straight, ignoring the sharp throbbing in her shoulder.
The brass key burned against the skin of her palm inside her pocket.
"Her name is Ava Collins, Helena," Nico said, his voice flat and warning.
"I know who she is, Nico," Helena smiled, her cold blue eyes raking over Ava’s borrowed clothes.
"A temporary worker from the harbor district."
"How romantic."
"The servant girl throwing herself into harm's way for the master of the house."
"She didn't do it for romance, Helena," Nico said, taking a sip of his drink.
"She did it because she has faster reflexes than my entire security detail."
Helena’s smile tightened at the edges.
"Indeed," Helena murmured.
"Marcus tells me the mounting bracket was tampered with."
"It sounds like gross negligence on the part of the maintenance staff."
"I've already instructed our legal team to draft termination notices for the entire crew."
Ava watched Helena’s hands.
They were perfectly steady.
There was no grief, no horror that her stepson had nearly died on a marble floor.
Only cold, bureaucratic efficiency.
"The bolt wasn't worn, Helena," Nico said, setting his glass on the mantle.
"It was lubricated with synthetic grease from our private garage."
Helena didn't flinch.
She simply picked up her teacup again and took a measured sip.
"Then you have a traitor among your men, Nico," she said calmly.
"You always were too careless with whom you trusted."
"Just like your poor brother."
The atmosphere in the parlor dropped several degrees.
Nico’s hand closed around the rim of the mantelpiece until the wood creaked.
"Do not bring Ethan into this," Nico warned.
"Why not?" Helena asked, tilting her head.
"Ethan thought he was untouchable too."
"He thought he could run the shipping routes without consulting the family."
"And look what happened to him."
"A fiery grave at the bottom of Vale Harbor."
"A tragedy born entirely of arrogance."
Ava felt a surge of rage tighten her throat.
She thought of the brass key in her pocket.
She thought of her father dying broken and disgraced in a cold hospital ward.
All to feed the vanity of this woman sitting behind fine china.
"Ethan wasn't arrogant, Mrs. Romano," Ava spoke before she could stop herself.
The room went instantly dead silent.
Marcus shifted his weight near the door, his eyes narrowing sharply.
Helena slowly set her teacup down, her polite smile vanishing completely.
"Excuse me?" Helena said, her voice dropping into an icy register.
Nico stepped forward, his eyes warning Ava to remain silent.
"Ava," Nico commanded softly.
Ava took a breath, holding Helena’s hostile stare.
"I said Ethan Romano was not arrogant," Ava repeated, refusing to yield.
"He knew exactly who his enemies were."
Helena laughed, a sharp, brittle sound that echoed off the high ceiling.
"And what would a girl who pours drinks know about Ethan Romano?" Helena asked.
"She knows enough to keep her mouth shut when family is speaking," Marcus interrupted smoothly.
He stepped toward Ava, his hand reaching out to grip her arm.
"Let's get you back upstairs, Miss Collins," Marcus said, his voice low and threatening.
Nico moved faster.
He intercepted Marcus, placing a broad hand against the security chief’s chest.
The impact was loud in the quiet room.
"Do not touch her, Marcus," Nico said, his voice vibrating with lethal authority.
Marcus froze, looking down at Nico’s hand on his chest, then up into Nico’s eyes.
For a fraction of a second, the mask dropped from Marcus's face.
Ava saw the raw, hidden malice in the older man’s eyes.
Ethan had been telling the absolute truth.
Marcus Vance was not Nico’s protector.
He was Helena’s executioner.
"I was only trying to protect your interests, boss," Marcus said, taking a calculated step back.
"My interests are my own," Nico replied coldly.
He turned to Helena.
"The gala is over."
"The police have finished their preliminary sweep."
"I suggest you return to the city penthouse, Helena."
"This estate is under complete lockdown until I find out who rigged that ceiling."
Helena rose from the velvet sofa, smoothing the wrinkles from her designer skirt.
She picked up her leather gloves and walked toward the doorway.
As she passed Ava, she paused, leaning in until her perfume filled Ava’s senses.
"You have a very pretty face, Miss Collins," Helena whispered softly, loud enough only for Ava to hear.
"It would be a terrible shame if it ended up like your father's."
Helena turned and walked out of the room, her heels clicking rhythmically against the stone hallway.
Marcus followed her, closing the double doors behind them.
The room was left in heavy, suffocating silence.
Nico turned slowly toward Ava, his dark eyes ablaze with suspicion, fury, and a desperate hunger for the truth.
"How did you know Arthur Collins was your father?" Nico asked, his voice shaking with suppressed intensity.
Ava froze.
She hadn't mentioned her father's full name to Nico.
She had only told him about an honest accountant who died in debt.
"I didn't tell you his first name," Ava realized, her voice dropping to a whisper.
Nico took three long strides across the room until he was standing directly over her.
"Because Helena just said it," Nico said, his breath hot against her forehead.
"Helena knew your father, Ava."
"And you knew Ethan’s name before that chandelier even hit the ground."
"Tell me what is happening right now," Nico demanded, gripping her wrists.
Ava looked into his eyes and felt the weight of the secret crushing her chest.
She pulled her right hand free and opened her fingers.
The small, tarnished brass key lay resting in her palm.
Nico stared down at the key, his breathing stopping completely.
"Where did you get that?" Nico asked, his voice cracking.
"Ethan was on my balcony ten minutes ago," Ava said.
Before Nico could react, the power inside the estate abruptly died.
The crystal chandeliers cut out.
The roar of the ventilation system ceased.
The entire manor was plunged into pitch-black darkness.
A second later, the sharp crack of suppressed gunfire echoed from the front gates.CHAPTER 6 — Through the Shadow Corridor
The darkness swallowed the opulent room in a single suffocating heartbeat.
Before Ava could draw a breath, the gilded french windows exploded inward in a spray of pulverized glass.
Nico moved like a predator unleashed, catching Ava by the waist and driving her hard against the floor behind the heavy mahogany desk.
High-caliber rounds tore through the air where their heads had been half a second prior.
The deep oak wood above them splintered under the ferocious barrage, sending sharp fragments raining down onto their hair.
Ava pressed her face into the wool of Nico’s coat, her injured shoulder flaring with sickening, white-hot agony.
Nico’s left arm held her down with iron firmness while his right hand reached beneath the undercarriage of the desk.
A sharp metallic click echoed beneath the thunder of gunfire.
He pulled free a customized matte-black pistol, racking the slide with a single fluid movement against the heel of his leather boot.
"Stay flat," Nico commanded, his lips grazing her ear as plaster dust rained around them.
"Who is shooting?" Ava gasped, her fingers digging desperately into the lapels of his suit jacket.
"Marcus’s internal sweep team," Nico replied, his voice terrifyingly calm amid the chaos.
"They don't use estate perimeter guards for an assassination."
"They use contract mercenaries brought in through the service gates."
A grenade canister clattered across the parquet floor, hissing thick chemical smoke into the room.
Nico grabbed a heavy brass bookend from the lower shelf and hurled it blindly through the doorway.
A sharp cry of pain sounded from the hallway as the heavy metal struck bone.
Nico rose just enough to fire three rapid, calculated shots into the smoke.
Two heavy bodies hit the floor with dull thuds.
"The primary electrical grid was cut from the master junction in the basement," Nico whispered, dragging Ava toward the rear bookshelf.
"That means every biometric door in the main corridors has automatically defaulted into emergency lockdown."
"We are trapped in here," Ava said, fighting back the rising panic in her chest.
"Not in this house," Nico said, reaching behind a row of leather-bound historical volumes.
He found a concealed mechanical latch and pulled it down with sharp force.
The entire eight-foot mahogany bookcase groaned and swung backward on counterweighted cast-iron hinges.
Behind it lay a narrow stone passageway smelling of damp earth, centuries-old lime mortar, and cold drafts.
Nico shoved Ava inside, stepping in immediately behind her and pulling the heavy bookcase flush against the wall.
The latch clicked shut, muting the frantic sound of gunfire in the parlor.
Ava collapsed against the damp granite stones, shivering uncontrollably as adrenaline drained from her limbs.
The darkness here was absolute, pressing against her eyes like black velvet.
A small beam of warm yellow light suddenly cut through the gloom.
Nico had switched on a slim tactical flashlight attached to the under-barrel rail of his pistol.
The beam illuminated his face, covered in white plaster dust and soot, his dark eyes ablaze with cold fury.
"You're bleeding through your bandages again," Nico noted, aiming the beam briefly down at her shoulder.
"It doesn't matter," Ava breathed, clutching her arm to suppress the throbbing ache.
"What is this place?"
"The original foundations of the manor were built in eighteen ninety-two over old maritime smuggling tunnels," Nico explained quietly.
"My grandfather reinforced them during the war."
"They run beneath the manicured gardens straight down to the private boathouse on the rocky inlet."
"Does Marcus know about these tunnels?" Ava asked, looking down the dark corridor.
"Marcus knows everything my father knew," Nico said grimly, taking her right hand to pull her upright.
"Which means he is already sending men down the service elevator to cut off the lower exit."
"We have less than four minutes before they seal the iron grates."
They moved swiftly down the sloping stone passage, their footsteps muffled by thick layers of dust.
Ava’s lungs burned from the damp, stagnant air, but she forced herself to match Nico’s long, urgent strides.
"Why did Ethan give you that key?" Nico asked suddenly, not breaking his forward pace.
"He said it opens box four hundred and four at the Grand Commercial Bank," Ava answered between ragged breaths.
"He said my father copied the original manifests before he died."
Nico kept the light pointed at the uneven stone steps descending ahead of them.
"Arthur Collins was the only man my brother trusted with the blind accounts," Nico muttered.
"When your father died in that state hospital, Helena told everyone he had embezzled millions from our harbor accounts."
"She forged bank statements to ruin his name."
"She bought off the police commissioner to close the investigation without an autopsy."
Ava stopped dead in her tracks, a wave of cold sorrow washing over her grief.
"My father never stole a dime," Ava said, her voice shaking with righteous fury.
"He worked eighteen hours a day in a cramped office while your family lived in palaces."
Nico stopped and turned around, the flashlight beam resting on the floor between them.
"I know he didn't steal it, Ava," Nico said softly, reaching out to steady her trembling frame.
"Ethan knew it too."
"That’s why Ethan kept you alive on that dark highway."
"He couldn't save Arthur Collins from Helena’s poison, but he vowed to keep you out of the crosshairs."
A harsh metallic rattle echoed from the depths of the tunnel ahead of them.
Nico immediately killed the flashlight beam, plunging them back into absolute blackness.
The unmistakable sound of heavy combat boots scraping against gravel drifted up through the passage.
"Two men," Nico breathed into her hair, his arm shielding her against the alcove wall.
"They're sweeping with night-vision optics."
Ava held her breath, her heart pounding so violently against her ribs she feared the mercenaries would hear it.
A faint green luminescence appeared around the bend of the tunnel fifty feet below.
The sweeping laser sights traced thin red lines across the damp granite walls.
Nico released Ava and slipped silently into the shadows like a wraith.
Ava pressed her back flat against the cold stone, praying she wouldn't make a sound.
The first armed mercenary emerged around the curve, his tactical rifle raised at shoulder height.
Before the guard could register the open space, Nico dropped from the darkness above an old water main.
His forearm clamped around the man's throat in a vicious sleeper hold, twisting him violently off balance.
The second mercenary swung his rifle toward the commotion, but Nico had already drawn his sidearm.
A single muffled gunshot cracked through the narrow corridor.
The second man dropped instantly to the dirt floor.
Nico dragged the unconscious first guard into the alcove and stripped him of his tactical vest and spare magazines.
He picked up the fallen rifle, tossed it to his shoulder, and reached back out for Ava’s hand.
"The boathouse is clear," Nico said, clicking the flashlight back on for a split second to check her face.
"Can you run?"
"I've been running my whole life, Mr. Romano," Ava said, wiping dirt from her cheek.
"Then let's stop running," Nico said, kicking open the rusted iron door at the end of the passage.
The cold, salt-laden sea air slammed into them with ferocious intensity.
They emerged onto the wet wooden dock inside the cavernous boathouse beneath the cliffs.
Rain was still pounding against the corrugated metal roof, churning the black ocean water below.
Tied to the main slip was an unmarked, high-powered offshore interceptor boat coated in matte navy paint.
"Get in," Nico ordered, untying the heavy braided mooring lines with one hand.
Ava climbed aboard, sinking into the low passenger seat as Nico vaulted over the gunwale.
He flipped open the ignition panel, entered a master bypass sequence, and hit the dual engine start switches.
The twin turbo-diesel engines roared to life, vibrating through the hull like caged predators.
The garage bay doors groaned open electronically into the roaring storm outside.
May you like
Nico slammed the dual throttles forward.
The boat leaped across the churning foam, leaving the burning Romano estate in its dark wake.
